If you like it, let me know! If the way I ended it is, to you, leaving the story incomplete, let me know! One perspective does not the best make. Regardless, hope you enjoy this, and have yourself a lovely day! See you Monday for more!
Ritual by Mackinley Clevinger, July 22, 2016
“You’re not… you’re not really going to – “
“I might if you don’t shut up.”
“No, but, seriously. You’re not actually considering – Mom would kill you. Like, seriously kill you. You can’t – “
“I can do whatever I want, okay, and what are you gonna do? Tell on me?”
“No.”
“Do you want to be a tattletale?”
“Course I don’t.”
“Then shut up already and let me do this.”
Sullenly, the young boy folded his arms and leaned against a gravestone, glaring at his sister from the corners of his eyes as he looked around the cemetery. His head barely grazed the top of the gravestone, the writing on it smoothed to an illegible scrawl beneath his back.
“It’s getting late.”
His sister sighed, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun just beginning to fall behind the gravestone to look at her younger brother. If she ducked her head down a few inches, the orange sun would disappear entirely and she’d be able to see the discomfort in his face, the slight quaking in his shoulders from the chill of autumn, and the way he never looked directly at her anymore.
She kept her face bathed in the sun, the shadows over her chest and legs leeching the heat from her body from while she kneeled at the foot of the grave. A beach towel was spread around her, the vibrant colors and sunny setting an ill-fit for the array of items laid out beside the girl.
Dented and dirty chalices, inscribed with symbols that had appealed to her at a bargain shop some months ago, black candles that gave off a thick, choking smoke, small, leather pouches filled with dried herbs she’d bought off of the internet, and… the book.
A tome of handwritten, ink-stained notes detailing the darker side of the mystical world that so many wandered through without ever realizing; an omnibus of the midnight rituals and mind-altering concoctions devised to destroy any preconceptions of the true meaning of life and the world for any avid follower of the dark arts; an ancient, powerful device that could bring either ultimate power to a willful follower… or their eternal doom.
Five dollars at a garage sale she’d been passing through, bored, with her then-boyfriend who she dumped for being a slimy, scummy, all-around no-good pansy who didn’t even own a car.
“This’ll only take a minute. Now, seriously, shut up.”
Breathing deeply, she brushed her hair behind her shoulders and opened the book to a bookmarked page, dragging a finger along its delicate vellum as she reached a hand out and gathered the candles and herbs together.
Satisfied she had read the instructions properly, she planted a candle in the dirt in front of her and, looking at her brother out of the corners of her eyes, lit it with a match she quickly snuffed out.
She opened one of the bags slowly, directing all of her attention to the work in front of her as the sun sank lower, disappearing behind the gravestone no matter how high she held her head. The shaking in her hands as she lifted out a dried leaf and set it against the candle matched that of her brother, his eyes locked to the dancing flame as it spread to the leaf.
When the flames began to nip against the soft flesh of her fingers, she released the leaf and let the burning remnants fall onto the grave, carried by a breeze she couldn’t feel. Keeping her nerves steady, she lit another leaf on the candle and let it drop onto the grave, watching as it drifted down beside the other, stems touching and the burn marks matching along the edges.
Heart pounding in her chest, she maintained her composure as she burnt the contents of the first bag, and then the second. She pointedly didn’t notice that her brother hadn’t moved an inch or said anything for over five minutes, normally grounds for wondering what he’d already done to warrant such action.
With the third bag, an image drawn in burnt leaves lay over the grave, the rough shape of a skeleton surrounded in sigils that adorned the book’s cover. With a mix of excitement and worry, she pored over the book one final time, eyes constantly darting to look at her brother as the words remained unread and known by heart already.
Laying the book aside, she gave him a nervous grin before blowing out the candle.